Peccata Mundi Assignment 3: Phoenix Rising
by D-of-the-Mask
Summary: The history of a man lies behind his white mask and his devotion to those in need. Through the shadows of his past and the light of the future, he seeks to right the wrong. See inside for assignment summary.
1. Detective for Hire

**Disclaimer:** There are some talented people to praise for establishing the original characters and the original story, yet I am not one of them.

**Title:** Peccata Mundi

**Summary:** The history of a man lies behind his white mask and his devotion to those in need. Through the shadows of his past and the light of the future, he seeks to right the wrong.

**Assignment 3:** Phoenix Rising

**Summary:** Playing with fire, one is bound to get burned. The flickering oranges, reds, and yellows are alluring, as well as dangerous. Only in the hands of a young woman will the inferno be able to bring about not only death, but life.

**Author's Note:** Hello and welcome to episode three of Peccata Mundi. Lately, I have been really into Agatha Christie novels. So I am very inspired by Hercule Poirot on Erik's character. I will most likely be trying to add more "French" words into the text because of that inspiration. Also, I am going to attempt to finish this sucker within two months because I want to get my Christmas special started around Thanksgiving so it can end around the holiday. However, having started up school once again, taking a bit more credits than last year, I don't know how possible this will be. I will try my hardest, though, to update a chapter once a week. Anyway, there is not much to say about this chapter. There are a few minor important things that will arise later on and the mention of a character that will come up in a later story. Yes, I know that character will be easy to spot. Anyway, enjoy! It was fun going for a sort of altered approach. Oh, p.s. there is a relative translation at the bottom. I do not speak French, nor have I studied it. So don't burn me at the stake if I get something wrong. Thanks!

**Section 1**

- Detective for Hire

_Café d'André_ was filled with a crowd typical of Sunday brunch. Both inside and the terrace outside were void of empty seats. The notable chefs and bakers, hidden away in their domain in the back, had to push an extra quick pace in order to turn out enough crumpets, pastries, and tea in order to please the diners. André, himself, was putting more effort into his presentation. Bustling about endlessly from table to table to ensure his customer's enjoyment, he appeared as a brown-suited blur more than as a person. There was no stopping as he cleared tables, re-prepared them, ensured his guests received seats, and made the occasional rounds of small talk.

Despite this same occupancy and hectic roving every Sunday morning, he became flustered each time. Grateful for the booming business and labeled as a people person, André still managed to overcome the busiest times with joy and no less enthusiasm in his business than when first starting out. Any diner owner could buckle under the incredible strain it took to run one's own shop, resulting in a closure of the company. Yet, André had found a way to maintain his sanity, while establishing a reputable café that never housed an empty room.

André chuckled cordially during one of his many stops to socialize. Being in the presence of a famous diva, he pumped up the charm accordingly. "Well, I will certainly look forward to La Carlotta's next performance." Still with an amused grin on his face, he kissed the top of the woman's hand, bowed, and removed himself from her and her guest's company.

He strode hurriedly and authoritatively toward the counter in the front of the establishment where a line of customers were waiting for a table to open up. Glancing over his shoulder before he came to a stop, he was able to whisper quick directions to an employee attempting to tend to the congestion to take the couple at the front of the pack to a spot that had recently become available. Normally allowed to seat themselves and retrieve any sort of nourishment they wished on their own, the rules changed during peak hours. It would have been awfully difficult to sneak by the overcrowded tables and immerse into a sea of people all waiting for their chance to get at the counter. It was much easier and more convenient to bring in a few extra helping hands to take and deliver orders and assist in seating.

As the young man went to complete his boss' command, André took up the empty position left in his wake. He glanced at the open page of a book containing customer records. Scribbling something down swiftly, he turned his gaze upward to greet the next customers. He was able to form a polite, friendly smile, but nothing more as he spotted the next person to walk through the café doors.

"_Excusez_," he apologized, rushing past the long waiting guests to get to the new arrival. The small hoard groaned in displeasure and erupted into murmurs of protest when he placed a hand on the gentleman's opposite shoulder blade to usher him further in.

Getting away from the line of guests, André quietly uttered to his companion, "You're late, _mon ami_."

"I am never late, André," came the relaxed reply in the same low volume. Grey eyes shifted from seated customers to seated customers. "I arrive precisely when I mean to."

André stepped ahead of his companion and stopped, causing the other to come to a halt, as well. Now facing each other, there was no where else to gaze. Blue eyes burned seriously into casual smoke.

"Erik," he started in an even quieter decibel. His eyes searched for some hidden formality in the opposite cloudy eyes, the pale skin that held wrinkles far too old for the age he appeared, the smooth white porcelain of the mask covering the other half of that weary face. "I am fairly good at judging character, am I not?" A short nod confirmed and told him to continue. "This man," there was a brief pause as the correct words were being sought for, "he is your typical businessman. He has little patience, used to everyone conforming to his own schedule. He is outspoken and sits high. There is no one he does not look down upon."

"Your point?"

"Tread carefully. Who knows why he is searching for your assistance."

Erik sighed. "Yes, I know I look a terrible mess. Madamoiselle Daeé would not cease from pestering me about tagging along. Really, that girl has nerve and audacity. She is the most outspoken, truthful female I believe I have ever encountered." He shook his head slightly to clear the way to move on with his thoughts. "However, I am _sur gardes_. You know how I tolerate the business folk." Erik gave a reassuring smile, patted his old friend on the shoulder and moved past him.

André stared after him, shaking his head in discomfort. "I know. That's why I warned you," he called in the other's retreat. A few people around him looked up from their brunch. He gave them warm smiles, pardoned himself, complimented, and headed around to the front of the café once again.

As Erik approached his usual table set aside in the corner, sure enough a man in a fancy suit occupied one side, sipping some coffee with elegance. The man had dark brown hair, balding ever so slightly, and dull amber irises. He was fit and tall, which was notable despite his position in a seat. There was a commanding presence about him that Erik felt before even sliding across from him.

"I hope I have not kept you waiting, Monsieur," Erik greeted.

"Not at all," the gentleman replied, setting his cup down and adopted a very formal stature. His fingers entwined together into a single fist atop the surface. "Would you prefer ordering before we get down to business?"

"Oh, it is already on its way," Erik remarked with a suave grin. "Now, please explain your situation. What needs my attention?"

"My name is Oliver Ackart. I have made my living working in the scientific and marketing fields."

"Ackart," Erik thought. "Yes, that does sound familiar. I believe I have heard of your successes, Monsieur. They are something to be acknowledged."

"_Merci_, Monsieur. That is appreciative coming from such a talented Detective." He cleared his throat, signaling the time to become grave and serious. There would be no more stepping around the reason for the meeting. "Yesterday, as I am sure you have read in this morning's edition, one of my trusted partners was murdered." His composure began to crack. His nervousness became evident the more he spoke of the incident. "It was scandalous what had occurred. We had to cover up the actual happenings in order to sustain our company's reputation."

"I know the death of which you speak. It said he had perished from a leak in one of the main boilers. It blew up in his face or some such thing. But now you are telling me that that is all a farce? What is the actuality of it then?"

"I do not wish to blamed, but I feel it is very much my own fault, though my hand was not that which took his life." He ran a hand through his hair. "You see, Monsieur, I know to no mistake that the one who did this is my daughter-in-law."

"Your daughter-in-law?"

"Well, that is, my would be daughter-in-law. You see, I had a son. After my wife died from disease, he was my only family. He showed great promise, too—intelligent, handsome, and fiercely confident. He would have gone very far with the business."

"This past tense unnerves me, Monsieur."

"He is dead, you see. The details, of which, I wish to not get into at this moment." He swallowed hard, and Erik nodded in agreement. It was too sensitive a subject. So Oliver Ackart continued on. "After he passed away, his fiancé fell into a fit of madness. She blamed me and my company for his death. How she received such ideas is beyond my knowledge. She threatened all of us, and until last night I had been unworried, believing it to be naught but empty."

He paused, sighing and catching his breath. The color quickly reentered his cheeks and his sense returned. "I know that she is merely overcome with grief and denial. She cannot accept that her lover was ripped so cruelly away from her. Even so, though, she must be stopped. She'll be coming after my colleagues and I next." Looking Erik squarely in the eyes, his intent became hard and even somewhat cold. "One life is already too much. You must end her reign of terror, for her safety as well as the rest of ours."

There was pause. Erik allowed an uncomfortable silence to develop. Taking his time to mull the confession over, he took a few sips of his tea, which had been delivered during the informational. Oliver Ackart eventually settled back in his chair into a more comfortable position. His eyes never left the Detective, though. It was time to make a decision.

"That is an unfortunate tale, Monsieur," Erik started, taking his time and playing up the anticipation. "A broken heart turned insane. Murder out of madness. It is a fairly romantic story, is it not?" The look on the other's face told Erik that this was not amusing. "Well, I suppose I shall look into the case, Monsieur. Being a Detective for hire, I cannot be picky about the jobs placed before me. I should like to be paid up front, if that is no problem for you?"

A pleased look fell across Oliver's features. "No, no that shouldn't matter. _Merci_, Monsieur. I shall make it worth your while."

They came to a financial agreement within a couple of minutes. Then Erik rose to make his departure. He tipped his top hat to his new employer and took the first few steps away from the table. Yet, that was as far as he could get before being called back by Monsieur Ackart.

"One more thing," the businessman added. "If this entire ordeal-all of your findings and conclusions and workings-could be kept on the quiet, I would be very much appreciative."

Erik smirked. "Of course. Secrets are my forte." And with another tip of his hat, he took his leave.

* * *

_Café d'André: André's café or the café of André; Excusez: Excuse or excuse me; Mon Ami: My friend; Sur Gardes: On guard; Merci: Thank you_


	2. Apologies and Greetings

**Disclaimer:** There are some talented people to praise for establishing the original characters and the original story, yet I am not one of them.

**Title:** Peccata Mundi

**Summary:** The history of a man lies behind his white mask and his devotion to those in need. Through the shadows of his past and the light of the future, he seeks to right the wrong.

**Assignment 3:** Phoenix Rising

**Summary:** Playing with fire, one is bound to get burned. The flickering oranges, reds, and yellows are alluring, as well as dangerous. Only in the hands of a young woman will the inferno be able to bring about not only death, but life.

**Author's Note:** Thank you for the French corrections. They were greatly needed. And, yes, I believe this installment may move more fluidly than the other two have. I will also let on a little secret that you will learn in upcoming chapters: someone who will remain throughout the story is bound to make an appearance, so be on the lookout; he is someone rather unexpected, I should think. Adding him in here makes me rather happy and excited. Keep up the awesome reviews! Thanks so much and enjoy!

**Section 2**

- Apologies and Greetings

Returning home around noon, Erik was immediately pounced upon by Christine as soon as he stepped through the doorway. Ignoring her pressing questions that she couldn't wait to ask, he ushered her into the sitting room and refused to begin before receiving some tea from Madame Giry.

After assisting him to an extent in his previous case, Christine felt a great urge to continue to lend an extra hand whenever possible. Erik still preferred working alone. He concluded he could think at his best when no one else was present. However, she had proved reliable, capable, and an asset. Even so, he wasn't sure he wanted her to continue getting involved. Dangerous situations were inevitable. The bullet wound to his shoulder from Jacque Marignon, the demented youth-obsessed monster, had guaranteed that. He didn't want her at risk.

Even now, the muscle felt tight whenever he moved or rotated it. But, since the bullet had gone straight through, the injury had healed fairly nicely at a fairly rapid rate. There wasn't even a scar left as a reminder. Then again, he wasn't prone to receiving any sorts of scars or lasting cuts. Every wound, given a small intensity, closed up without a trace and, giving his ingestion of his medication, did so in a relatively short amount of time. He was glad of this fact. It allowed him to return to work right away.

With a china set positioned on the coffee table in front of them, Christine made it evident she was ready to begin the informational. She sat across from him, her emerald eyes wide with curiosity. Her hands rested lightly in her lap, though he knew she was itching in anticipation.

Erik took his time. He poured himself a cup of his special blend and proceeded to sip it. He leaned against the backboard of the sofa, glancing lazily over the woman in front of him. Christine had adorned a dull blue frock for the day. Her brown curls had been pulled out of her fair face by two matching ribbons. The outfit was one of the more conservative that she had in her wardrobe. A white lace stretched from the top of her bosom where the cobalt fabric started and up to her neck. The same lace was detailed into the gown and on the edges of the sleeves. She looked absolutely lovely and pulled it off as a queen.

He couldn't help musing, though, how color was starting to come back into his life. Before Christine had begun staying with him and the Girys, the house had been void of anything other than black or grey or trims of white. Yet, somehow, a silvery blue creature was sitting under his roof at that very moment. The most beguiling part, however, was that he did not even mind. Christine's grace and elegance pulled off anything and everything. He believed he could sit just like this with her wide array of colors always before him.

Setting the china cup back onto its matching saucing and gently placing that back onto the surface, Erik cleared his throat and finally uttered, "The client is Monsieur Oliver Ackart."

"I know of him," Christine interrupted instantly, even though this was what she had been waiting for.

"Who doesn't?" Erik continued, unfazed. "He is a big name in scientific advancements, but has gained notice by the public for the way he markets these progressions."

"It was his man that died yesterday, was it not?" He gave her a somewhat questionable look as to how she could have known that. She smiled and innocently admitted, "I read your paper this morning while you were away. I wanted to be informed and prepared by the time you came back. I thought the paper could offer some jumping off points to whatever case you were about to take."

Erik nodded slowly and raised his eyebrows. "I must say, Mademoiselle, that I am impressed. Never have you taken this initiative. It is the first, I believe, that you have looked in the news."

She nodded, proud of her actions, and waited as he took another sip of tea. He set it back down and leaned against the backrest. Her spine was straight. Excitement or propriety the cause, he couldn't tell.

"His partner, the one mentioned in the paper, died yesterday. It was not an accident. He believes he knows who is behind it and asked for me to look into it."

When he didn't immediately go on, Christine pursued, "And who does he suspect?"

There was a pause. It was the first time Erik's eyes drifted away from hers. They shifted to the ground for a mere moment before coming back up to be lost in the pools of green. He swallowed, knowing that she wouldn't be willing to fully accept the accused right away.

"He believes his daughter-in-law is the murderess."

"His daughter-in-law?" she echoed incredulously. "Is there any evidence to support these allegations? What is his reasoning?"

"Monsieur Ackart actually offered a very convincing story as to the motive. Even though I am still unsure of his character, I decided to take on the case, if not just to find out more about this would-be-relative of his."

"Are you going to relay this story of his to me?"

"No," he replied directly. He was final in his word, one could tell, by the tone and suddenness of it.

"Why not?" Christine thrust. She wasn't going to give up that easily.

"Because, you are too emotional. Emotions tend to sway the case. I can't allow that to happen, especially in this circumstance."

Christine opened her mouth to retort, but luckily Erik was saved by a rap on the door. She closed her jaw and stood up fiercely. While she tended to the caller, Erik drank some more tea. He heard her stomps reach the front door and throw open the slab of wood. Then, a gasp. He froze in his motion of bringing the cup to his lips. His interest was ground into what was occurring in the front of the house.

"R-Ra-" Christine stammered, left off guard.

"Christine," the male voice interjected, "please, I need to speak with you."

Oh no. Erik set the cup and saucer onto the coffee table. He recognized the voice, and, even so, he hoped beyond hope that he was mislead. Why had the man come again? Didn't he understand that he should just stay away? There was no deterring this man from whatever he set his mind to. It was pestering and annoying. Yet, he seemed to be growing on Erik at the very same time. It was troublesome and confusing.

Two sets of footsteps returned to the sitting room after the door had closed. Erik kept his eyes downcast for as long as he could. In some part of his mind, he actually thought that doing so would perhaps alter the caller. It didn't. When Christine lightly said his name, it was like a tug on his pupils. He had to raise his head and take in the arrival.

"Monsieur Erik," the young man greeted with a slight bow.

"Monsieur Raoul de'Chagny," he stood and returned in the same manner. Then once again erect, "What brings you about? I am sure you did not think the lashing you received at your last visit was an invitation."

Christine blushed, but shot Erik an angry expression. He really did not have to be so rude about it. He even thought so directly after uttering the words. He looked downward, ashamed, but was drawn upward again by the unfazed gentleman.

"Actually, that is why I have returned. I wanted to speak to both you about our last exchange," Raoul said formally.

"Please, have a seat," Erik offered with a wave of his hand.

They sat down: Erik taking up his spot on the sofa, and Christine across from him. Raoul found an empty, and they were all tense and serious. Raoul's azure eyes searched the floor for where to begin. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. He seemed to have found what he was looking for when he cleared his throat.

"I owe both of you an apology," he started. "I did not mean to be so crass and judgmental. It's just that, ever since the death of Christine's father, I have felt the overwhelming need to protect her." He looked up at Erik. "I know you are capable of doing a good job of it, too, sir. After all, you were the one who discovered where she had been spirited away to." He shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. "And that may be another reason for my hostility that evening. I believe that I had hoped to be her hero—her knight in shining armor. When Christine had gone missing, I had tried so desperately to get her back, but failed. I thought why should you be the one to rescue her when you don't even know her."

"Raoul," Christine cooed sympathetically.

He glanced at her then back to Erik, who remained silent and staring, taking in all that he said. "I realize now how foolish I had been. I am willing to allow Christine to make her own choices and figure out what is best for her. I only ask to continue to remain a part of her life, as a friend if nothing more."

This man certainly had the charm and the chivalry down. With his blonde locks, bright eyes, and handsome features, as well, he was the epitome of the perfect man. The most nauseating part of it all, though, was that he was completely genuine. None of his attributes was an act. His loyalty, his courtesy, and even his instant courage was one hundred percent him.

"Oh, Raoul," Christine beamed, drawing all eyes in the room to her. "Of course we are friends, and always remain so."

She drew him into an embrace, where Erik felt a pang of tightness in the pit of his stomach. He was glad they were at amends, but something told him to end the contact instantly. So he stood up abruptly and cleared his own throat. Christine unlatched herself from Raoul, who stood, as well.

"I accept your apology, Monsieur, and welcome you back at any time you desire."

He held out his hand in a friendly gesture. What else could he have done? He couldn't very well turn Raoul away after such a confession and response from his ward. He would look like a brute. And despite the irritation Raoul caused, Erik had a feeling that this was for the best and might actually turn out to be a fairly agreeable arrangement.

Raoul shook Erik's hand enthusiastically, a broad smile displaying his pearly whites. "Thank you, Monsieur. I promise I will not be a nuisance." He let his hands fall to his thighs. "Well, I really must be going. I just dropped by to make amends. Now that that is over, there are appointments I still must keep."

Raoul was accompanied to the door by both Erik and Christine. Opening the door, the young man was apart to step through it, but had to quickly catch himself before running head on into little Meg Giry. Her hand was outstretched, as if she were about to open the door. A paper bag filled to the brim with groceries was supported by her other arm. The look on her face was that of bewilderment, but swiftly changed to pleasant surprise.

"Hello, Monsieurs, Christine," she greeted, curtseying as best she could. "Mama asked me to pick up some groceries, and I've just returned. Chance that you should be opening the front door just as I am coming in."

Adorning a salmon colored frock with a matching bow holding back half of her golden hair, all complimenting her pale skin and sapphire eyes, Meg looked like a living porcelain doll. However, the style of the garment revealed a maturing young woman in its design. Her ever energetic and ever pleasant attitude had caused a natural glow to root itself in her features. She was beautiful and untainted, yet knowledgeable and curious.

Raoul had noticed all of this about her the instant the door had opened. His wide cerulean eyes spoke of interest and wonder, while his slightly agape mouth signaled his surprise at running into the creature. He was able to regain his composure somewhat quickly, but only after she was emitted into the domain.

Erik couldn't believe it, but it was true. Raoul had never yet met Meg, despite imposing on the household those several times. This was his first time meeting her, and it was obvious his captivation. He would have never thought Erik to house not one, but two gorgeous ladies. Was it so bizarre that he should be familiar with women like them? Yes. He even admitted his luck. Despite his position, which any man would gladly trade him for, he could not have, nor did he want to or try to pursue, the relationship that might initially be assumed of such an arrangement. For him, it was impossible.

"I am afraid I have not yet met your guest," Meg initiated.

Raoul fully composed now, thrust out his hand. "I apologize. My name is Raoul de'Chagny."

"Monsieur de'Chagny-"

"Raoul," he corrected.

"Raoul, it is nice to meet you. I'm Meg Giry."

A polite smile on her face, she outstretched a small hand into his. Instead of shaking it, he lifted her knuckles to his lips and softly them. A faint blush crept to her cheeks.

"My pleasure, Mademoiselle Giry," he greeted suavely.

"Call me Meg," she stated.

"Meg," Raoul tried out. The name was sweet on his lips.

They smiled at each other, unaware their hands were still interlocked. Erik, who had witnessed the entire exchange, felt unnerved by the scene. He was uncomfortable and unsure. Meg, only sixteen, should not have been eyeing a twenty-year-old the way she was. Although the age difference was not necessarily unheard of, he did not want to see a thing like that happen. He was like a protective older sibling, and suddenly it hit him. He was empathizing with Raoul. He could now understand the man's feelings toward Christine. It had been more of a familial protection than actual romantic intentions. Nevertheless, he was unwilling to allow Meg to continue like this.

"Well then," he interrupted. "Meg, shouldn't you be getting to unpacking those groceries?"

She had created space at the sound of his voice, and now studied him hesitantly. "I suppose." She sounded unsure.

Erik nudged her toward the kitchen. "Your mother," he stressed, "is back there to assist you." He watched her retreat to the kitchen then he turned back to his guest with a forced cheerful grin. "And, Monsieur, I must say to the surprise of us all, I'm sure, this visit has been most pleasant. Call again soon, if you wish. Your presence won't be nearly as detested as it has been in the past. Goodbye now."

He closed the door in Raoul's face after had successfully ushered him onto the stoop. He leaned against the secured wood feeling exasperated. He took in a deep breath and released it in a sigh. Christine, who had been silently taking everything in, now met eyes with Erik, a small smirk on her face. She knew exactly what had played out and exactly what he was thinking.

"I'm going to have to keep an eye on them, aren't I?" he asked breathlessly.

"Yes, you will," she answered smugly then strolled away amused.


	3. Remains

**Disclaimer:** There are some talented people to praise for establishing the original characters and the original story, yet I am not one of them.

**Title:** Peccata Mundi

**Summary:** The history of a man lies behind his white mask and his devotion to those in need. Through the shadows of his past and the light of the future, he seeks to right the wrong.

**Assignment 3:** Phoenix Rising

**Summary:** Playing with fire, one is bound to get burned. The flickering oranges, reds, and yellows are alluring, as well as dangerous. Only in the hands of a young woman will the inferno be able to bring about not only death, but life.

**Author's Note:** Alright, I am going to jump right into this. There is going to be a little surprise in this chapter. Hopefully you all recognize him one way or another. He wasn't a really big character in the original novel, and was basically left out of every modern version of The Phantom of the Opera. I must say, though, that the first name was suggested by a friend of mine, while his last name was created by Susan Kay. I thought his presence would be fun and interesting. So, enjoy.

**Section 3**

- Remains

Erik arrived at the scene of the crime in the early afternoon, wanting to dive right into the case. It made sense to start out at the place of the murder to gather evidence, especially before it was cleaned. He also tried to use the delve into work as a distraction to keep his mind from the interaction just a short while earlier. However, he hadn't taken into account the quiet carriage ride where his thoughts usually ran rampant, and his plan only worked after he arrived on location.

It wasn't that he detested the younger Raoul. In fact, the gentleman was beginning to grow on him, oddly enough. He found his presence to be more and more natural. Yet, the idea of Meg and him finding interest in each other was out of the question. Erik would not allow his ward to even look at him in the same way again as she had looked at him earlier. But he was at a loss to create any repercussions. He wasn't dastardly enough to evoke her ballet or live-in privileges. He would never manipulate anyone that way just to be satisfied.

As far as he was concerned, it was out of his control, though the feelings of discomfort remained. Though he could not stop the two completely from ever seeing each other again, he would sure as Hell do all in his power to make the situation more awkward and in more company. Yes, that was precisely what he would do.

The building that Erik walked up to was large, yet unobtrusive. It blended in well with the other edifices of the city. Even though Oliver Ackart and his business was well known, they still maintained a relatively small space and crew compared to their rivals. This played to the every-day-person more. They could feel reassured that this was not some corrupt corporation, but a family friendly organization.

The doors were not blocked off in anyway. Despite the recent death, business was still business, and had to continue on. Erik strolled into the front entrance, immediately met by a greeter on the inside. The man asked the usual required questions, and he obliged with courteous answers. After the introduction, though, he got straight to the point.

"I am looking for Monsieur Ackart. Is he available?"

"Right this way, sir."

The man ushered further inside with a sweep of his hand, but stepped in front to lead him to the target. They went down a short hallway with glass-encased labs to either side. Within these confines, scientists in the typical white lab coats tested away on various things. They were fairly oblivious to the two suited men waltzing by. One left turn and a few more meters brought them in front of a solid, opaque wooden door.

"His office, Monsieur," the greeter announced. He rapped gently then waited for some sort of reply. It came in the form of a muffled admittance, and he gracefully pushed open the door.

Erik slid past him and into the small cubical. The greeter did not follow, but closed the door behind him. Erik waited for the isolation before drawing further into the room. It was simple: wooden desk, matching chairs, a bookcase, a cabinet, and a coat rack. It was homely, but unexpected. Apparently, much of the income went toward the laboratories instead of the personal spaces. Admirable.

"Ah, Monsieur Erik," Oliver Ackart exclaimed, getting up from the paperwork that was strewn across the surface of the desk. "Please, take a seat."

He did as he was requested, removing his top hat and holding it gently in his lap. He looked directly to Ackart, who did the same back. It still unnerved Erik slightly how the man could appear so unaffected by the white porcelain mask staring at him. Most shuddered or drew back defensively. This man was a leader and a fighter, though. He never backed down. He was never one to lose.

Sitting back down, he continued, "Have you come for the case?"

Bingo.

"Yes," Erik responded. "I was wondering if I might be able to take a look at where your colleague was killed."

He wasn't going to be modest. He didn't have to with this man. This man could take whatever words were thrown at him.

"Of course."

He rifled through the top drawer and removed a ring of keys. He got to his feet again, Erik following in action, and led the way out of the office and to a closed off room down the other end of the hallway. They stopped at the room beginning the left side of the wing off of the main corridor. It was, again, a wooden door, locked. Ackart flipped through the many keys before picking out one and fitting it into the doorknob. The slab gave way and allowed entrance.

Straight ahead was a long glass viewing window. It looked in on a room with a chair that had restraining straps and a table with various sets of equipment atop it. There was a single door at the end of the panel that led inside. However, they passed this up to head off to the right where another wooden door blocked their way. Another key was found and the door was unlocked.

Stepping carefully down a short staircase, Erik could make out in the dim lighting the charred walls and smoky smell. A couple boilers were at the bottom, along with a large burn mark running up the length of the wall to their right. Eerily enough, the outline of a body could almost be seen in the stain.

"Here we are," Oliver Ackart announced. "Take as much time as you'd like, Monsieur." He nodded and left, closing the door at the top of the stairs.

Erik glanced around. There wasn't really much to it. The boilers were still intact, backing the story of the newspaper article's cause of death being completely untrue. The black marks on the walls and the stairwell complied with the use of fire. Yet, it seemed odd. It seemed to the detective that if someone were to light a fire in this small of a space, the whole area would explode. That was how near the boilers were to the actual spot.

No, whoever had killed this man had not just thrown a match. Erik surveyed the blackened area a bit more, recognizing the body outline better at a closer proximity. Another odd discovery. Just from what he could make out, which wasn't very much and not very clear at all, he could assume that the victim might have been pinned somehow against the wall. Had he been subdued to some extent before being killed? What would the significance of that be? There was only one answer for this route: torture.

A click at the top of the staircase caused Erik to stop in his perusing. He looked up to find the cause of the interruption. Had Ackart forgotten something and come back to inform him? Was someone coming down to access the boilers? It didn't seem odd that there would be a disruption. He thought nothing of it. But, when he saw the man leading the two officers, he suddenly felt intruded upon and sour.

The leader was tall and slim. The black facial hair above his lip and on his chin matched his thin physique. They were like drawn on lines. Underneath the grey bowler atop his head, which matched his fine suit, was thick raven hair. Although the look of him was unthreatening, there was something about the attitude he brought into a room that intimidated those present.

"Well, well, well," the man said in a thick Persian accent when coming down the stairs. "If it isn't Monsieur Erik. Why is it not a surprise to find you here?"

"Monsieur Nadir," Erik replied, eyeing the gentleman. "The pleasure's all yours, I'm sure."

Amir Nadir, a Persian man in about his late thirties to early forties, had run into Erik years earlier. When the private detective had first started out, Nadir was a mere officer in the force. Now, after several promotions, he actually had a team of men underneath him that he could control. Needless to say, though, Nadir and Erik's first encounter had not been so pleasant. They had encountered each other many times afterward, which formed a bittersweet relationship between the two. Even with the promotions under his belt, Nadir was still refused absolute courtesy by Erik. Still, a mutual respect was held between them both.

There was a small chuckle from Nadir, amused, yet not. He stopped, a little off to the side from the staircase, but still facing his nemesis. Then, he grew serious.

"You realize that you are interfering in official business, do you not?" he formalized.

"I was personally asked to come and take a look around. There is nothing wrong in doing so," Erik excused.

"Your entire operation is a distraction to the real investigators. If I could arrest you for vigilante activities, you know I would not hesitate to do so."

"Yes, I realize." Erik stepped up close to Nadir. Whispering, he continued, "I am afraid the lapdog only does what he is told to do, though. Seems like you'll have to resist the urge until your superiors give word."

Erik slid past him and started up the small staircase. Nadir turned on his heel to watch the man's exit. He was not happy. He put his hands on his hips and kept a sour expression.

"They will find a charge on you soon, Erik. And when they do, I'm taking you down," he shouted up to him.

Erik didn't stop. He didn't turn around and he didn't show any sign that he had heard that last comment. He was already near the door at the top and just wanted to walk through it and be rid of this tormentor.

With his hand on the knob, he muttered one last comment that he was certain Nadir could just barely make out. "Don't hold your breath." Then he slipped through the door and slammed it behind him, utterly upset that his investigation had just been ruined by a person whose side he was supposed to be on.


	4. Painting of the Soul

**Disclaimer:** There are some talented people to praise for establishing the original characters and the original story, yet I am not one of them.

**Title:** Peccata Mundi

**Summary:** The history of a man lies behind his white mask and his devotion to those in need. Through the shadows of his past and the light of the future, he seeks to right the wrong.

**Assignment 3:** Phoenix Rising

**Summary:** Playing with fire, one is bound to get burned. The flickering oranges, reds, and yellows are alluring, as well as dangerous. Only in the hands of a young woman will the inferno be able to bring about not only death, but life.

**Author's Note:** Thank you all for the reviews. This story wouldn't be happening without you. I like all the questions and the ideas. However, I am not going to answer them or give you hints. If I do, you wouldn't stay tuned. I hope I didn't come off too evil right there. Anyway, I like this chapter a little better than the last. I hope you find it just as pleasurable. There's not much more for me to say. More interesting chapters are coming up. Enjoy! Oh, p.s. If anyone has any ideas for other assignments, let me know. I will always take opinions into consideration.

**Section 4**

- Painting of the Soul

Erik was angry. No, he was more than angry. He was absolutely furious. Not only had his investigation been interrupted - he hated to be interrupted - but his perusal of the crime scene had ended faster than it had begun. Even the mere thought of Nadir discovering a crucial piece of evidence in what should have been his site enraged him.

This was, after all, his case. He had been specifically approached. The team that Nadir was a member of only looked into crimes against the rich and powerful—people who, they believed, actually meant something to society. They didn't care about the common man. But Erik accepted any client that needed his services, so long as they could pay in some manner. Even then, though, he made exceptions. This was, perhaps, the main reason for the distaste between the two: Erik saw Nadir as a corrupt official, cocky and disinterested in the lives of the people; and, Nadir saw Erik as a money-hungry vigilante, always believing to be above the law, and possessing some of that pompous ass trait himself.

Erik fumed inwardly. He was never one to show much emotion, but always ranted and raved internally. After slamming the door behind him, he marched to the next one, ready to barge through it and leave the entire premises immediately. However, he stopped with his hands placed to either side of the frame and his head bowed slightly in between. He inhaled and exhaled, slowly, rhythmically.

He had to maintain this exercise for a couple minutes before he was able to turn around with a much clearer head. He leaned against the wall to one side of the door and sighed. His throat felt dry and closed. His tongue felt swollen inside of his parched mouth. He tried to swallow, but was met with throbbing ache from his throat muscles. Getting worked up always led to this reaction. That was why he had always preserved an easy-going attitude.

Erik stared straight ahead into the other portion of the room that was blocked off by the viewing window. It was a curious addition. He could only imagine what use would come from it. He stepped off of the wall and slowly approached the door separating the two areas. He grasped the handle and tried it, but the door didn't budge. It was locked. Typical.

It made sense that it wouldn't give. All of the other doors had been sealed, so why would this one be the exception? No, it was obvious that Monsieur Ackart had wanted to contain the crime scene. He didn't want anyone to just waltz in and disturb anything. And he definitely didn't want any gawkers or information about the true nature of the murder leaking out.

Erik departed from the room with more questions than he had entered with. He had to speak with Monsieur Ackart about his slim findings. His curiosity also would not rest until he inquired of the connected operating room. So he turned and went in the direction of his client's office. However, upon reaching it, he found the room locked, silent. He continued his way to the front of the building to find the same man that had shown him in.

"Excuse me, Monsieur, would you happen to know the whereabouts of Monsieur Ackart?" he asked when in the company of the specific man.

"Monsieur Ackart has gone home for the rest of the day."

"I see." He paused to allow his thoughts to process for just a moment. "Would you humbly disclose the location to me?" He saw the man's eyes travel over his face, the mask, hesitantly. It was hard enough to trust a normal looking person, let alone one with a placid mask adorning half of his face. "I am a detective working on his colleague's murder case," he reassured.

The man flinched. The incident still felt too real to mention so calmly. That was all Erik needed to say, though. The man stalled no more and swiftly gave over the address. Erik thanked him and exited.

Oliver Ackart lived only a couple blocks away, so Erik decided a walk there would do him good. He gave Joseph, his carriage driver, the address, but told him to stop off at a florist to pick up a bouquet of flowers before meeting him there. Then he set off at a casual pace, keeping his top hat as far over the right side of his face, over that abnormally calm mask, as he could.

-----

There was no doubt about which dwelling was Oliver Ackart's. It was the largest house of the lot. A small black fence enclosed the perimeter, filtering out trespassers and residents. Erik easily slipped past this barricade and onto the grounds. He stepped carefully and slowly toward the double front doors.

The structure consisted of sloping roofs and several small balconies. The front lawn, and only the wealthy could really afford something with a little green to it, was shaped with precision and technicality. Obviously the work of a professional. It all looked fairly nice, but a little too much for his taste.

Erik rapped on the door then took back a step. Immediately, the door opened on a man with perfect posture and a perfect suit. He was almost bald, except for a ring of grey hair stretching behind from ear to ear. The wrinkles and lines on his face told of a life of constant stress and strain.

"May I help you?" the butler asked with little patience and little courteousness. He had seen all of the guest and did not like it. His skepticism of whoever came to the door was due to his loyalty to his master.

"I am here to see Monsieur Ackart," Erik stated.

The words had barely gotten out when a stray voice instructed, "Let him in, Jeffrey."

Hesitantly, the butler obeyed and allowed Erik entrance to the homestead. The interior was even more elaborate than the exterior. Perhaps he had been wrong about the massive income going straight to the labs. He now saw that a lot of effort was put into finding the most expensive items on the market and furnishing the home with them. The butler showed Erik over to a study where Monsieur Ackart was situated.

"Leave us, Jeffrey," he commanded.

"Sir." The butler bowed and departed, shutting the door after him.

"So, what can I do for you?" Ackart got down to business. "I apologize for leaving so abruptly from my office. It's still so…uncomfortable."

"I understand," Erik appeased.

"Please, have a seat."

Erik fell into an antique armchair that was present due to its price tag and aesthetic appeal rather than its comfort. He adjusted his position, trying to get the most out of the hard cushion.

"Thank you. There were just a few things I wanted to discuss with you about what I was able to find. I am afraid, though, that that wasn't a lot."

"Whatever you have, I'm sure, is extremely appreciated."

"Well, I looked quite thoroughly over the charred marks on the wall, and it appeared very odd indeed. It seems like your colleague had to have been tied down or bound in some way for those stains to emerge like that."

Only a little bit of color drained from Ackart's face. He swallowed. He seemed nervous and uncomfortable, which wasn't unordinary with such details of someone so close to him. "So what are you trying to say? Do you think he was overcome somewhere else and brought down there?"

Erik paused. He didn't necessarily want to announce his actual idea because it would surely unsettle his client even more. But, he needed more information, and anything that might not have seemed important before could seem very important after the mere sharing of an idea.

"Actually, my initial thought was that he had been tortured before being burned to death." He spoke slowly and quietly, not wanting to alarm the other man too much.

Oliver nodded absently. His voice when he muttered next seemed distant, detached. "I can see where you can draw that conclusion." Even with the grotesque situation, he was able to maintain a rather level head. "Everybody enjoyed his company. He was a good man."

"I'm sure he was." Erik allowed one more moment for lamentation then continued. "Something else has struck my curiosity, sir."

Oliver Ackart turned his gaze to Erik. Color was slowly returning to his cheeks, but his eyes looked sunken, and he appeared much older than he actually was. He nodded, signaling the detective to continue. Erik cleared his throat, shifting in his seat once more, and obliged.

"That room with the stabilizing chair and equipment that we passed on the way down to the boilers. I was merely wondering what use you found out of that."

A small smirk cracked into Ackart's stone features. "Monsieur, would you ask a magician to reveal his tricks? I wish to help your investigation in anyway I can, but I cannot give you any information on the laboratories or the equipment. I'm sorry. I just don't know what will happen to that knowledge. You may sell it to my competitors for all I know. I hope you understand."

"I do, I apologize." It was true. He had been afraid of this response, but there it was. There was nothing he could do to change his client's mind. He didn't want to impose. "One more thing."

"Yes?"

"Could you give me a description of your daughter-in-law?"

Oliver Ackart stood up and walked briskly from the room out a separate door Erik had entered in. Definitely not the response that had been expected. But then he returned just as swiftly with his hands full. He took up his seat behind his desk again and held out the items to the detective.

Erik took them carefully and peered down at them. The first was a picture frame with the painting of a fine young man of good upbringing. He had dark brown hair, fair skin, and light brown eyes. He was very handsome. It was large, obviously prized. The art had perfect strokes and shading. It was professional, expensive.

"That is…was my son," Ackart explained. "It was painted a couple months before his…" He nodded to finish the sentence.

Erik flipped to the next object. It was a smaller painting lacking a frame. The edges were jagged and it appeared to have been folded once or twice. It must have been ripped from the canvas because it was floppy like a piece of paper. The style of this one was not as good as the previous. It was sloppier with a more savage skill. Still, it was good, and the two individuals in it were clear.

Again, the same young man was there. Next to him, was a woman. She had sandy blonde hair that was tied messily back into a braided bun. A small slew of freckles clumped around her cheeks and nose. She was pretty, not beautiful—a little ordinary. Their proximity made it obvious that they were a couple.

"This is her," Erik stated rather than asked. Ackart merely nodded.

Erik studied the pictures again. There was one distinct difference between the two that really interested him. In the first portrait of just the man, his expression was solemn, grave even. There was no inner light shining through those eyes. He appeared bored, upset, too serious. However, in the second picture of the couple, there was a small smile on the man's face, as well as the woman's. Warmth was in their painted eyes. One could tell even through the medium. The difference, though slight, was intriguing.

"Well," Erik concluded, standing up, "I shall let you be." He handed back the large painting, but kept hold of the smaller. "Would it be out of the question for me to take this picture with me? Just so that I have a reference."

"Not at all," Ackart replied, somewhat taken aback. He stood too and held out a hand. "It was a pleasure, once again, Monsieur."

They shook.

"All mine, Monsieur. All mine."

With that, Erik tipped his hat and left the house. On the stoop, he folded the small flimsy painting on the already present creases and slipped it into his breast pocket. Joseph was already stationed at the gate waiting for him. The man was fast, Erik had to hand it to him. Joseph held open the carriage door, but Erik stopped at the black gate. He glanced back at the large house, closing off the perimeter.

'Curious,' he thought. 'Very curious.'

Then he stepped up into the stagecoach and was shut into darkness.


	5. Important Affair

**Disclaimer:** There are some talented people to praise for establishing the original characters and the original story, yet I am not one of them.

**Title:** Peccata Mundi

**Summary:** The history of a man lies behind his white mask and his devotion to those in need. Through the shadows of his past and the light of the future, he seeks to right the wrong.

**Assignment 3:** Phoenix Rising

**Summary:** Playing with fire, one is bound to get burned. The flickering oranges, reds, and yellows are alluring, as well as dangerous. Only in the hands of a young woman will the inferno be able to bring about not only death, but life.

**Author's Note:** Sorry, sorry, sorry about not updating for the last week or two. I was swamped with exams and work and stuff. Anyway, I won't take up much of your time with this little note. This chapter is just supposed to be a fun little thing that develops some characters. It's kinda cute, kinda out there. But, whatever. Enjoy!

**Section 5**

- Important Affair

Who was that—the figure standing at his door? The shock of thick dirty blonde hair offered familiarity, but no face, no name. Dread already seemed to be filling Erik's mind, though. Approaching closer and closer, realization slowly crept over him. Coming back from Monsieur Ackart's domain, all Erik wanted to do was retire to his study to further scope out the picture he had confiscated and draw upon whatever conclusions were possible up to that point, and be able to do all of this in peace and quiet. But now, with the presence of a young gentleman on his stoop, he was convinced this wouldn't be entirely possible.

"What now?" he breathed in frustration, but not necessarily anger. He leaned toward the head of the carriage and rapped lightly against the interior. "Joseph," he called, "halt in the front so that I may exit then take it around."

There was a muffled word of consent, and a couple seconds later, the coach ceased rocking. The noise of the squeaking buggy and clopping of the horses' hooves drew the attention of the caller. Erik pushed open the car door and stepped out onto the cobblestones just in time to see Raoul de'Chagny peering over his shoulder at the arrival. Erik exhaled and straightened his coat before trudging on.

"Twice in one day," Erik observed when he drew within earshot. "Monsieur de'Chagny, I believe you are abusing your new privilege early on."

"Pardon?" Raoul answered. While he had clearly heard the first part of Erik's comment, the second part had eluded his hearing, for Erik purposely had allowed his voice to drop a few decibels. Either that or the apparent chiding had gone straight over his head.

Erik cleared his throat, moving past this obstacle, and got down to business. "What may I do for you, Monsieur de'Chagny? I suppose an important affair must have brought you back to my home a second time in less than twenty-four hours."

"It is important indeed," the young man replied in all seriousness. "I was just about to, er, knock when your arrival startled me out of my actions."

"Ah, well, there appears to be no need for that anymore. Let me allow you in."

Erik stepped forward reaching toward the doorknob with one hand, while the other searched his pocket for a key. However, upon trying the handle and finding it unlocked, he gave up the search and pushed his way into his house. He always preferred for the ladies to bolt the door when he was away just as a precaution. It never really ended up happening, though, and luckily so far they had remained safe and unalarmed. No one was in sight when he entered the entrance hall. It merely supported his proposal. Any stranger from the streets could do what he had just done and none of the residents would be any wiser.

Raoul had followed him inside and let the door swing shut behind him. The click echoed loudly throughout the spacious interior. Erik was in mid-pivot to offer hospitality toward his guest when a quick patter from above filled the silent void. Both pairs of eyes turned to the staircase, where the footsteps traveled to. Soon enough, the random noise was accompanied by a sweet, feminine voice.

"You made it. I'm glad. I hope you do not think it improper of me to have had you just-"

The voice broke off in a gasp when the pair of sapphire eyes caught the sight of Erik in the presence of the expected visitor. Meg was still in her salmon colored frock, but had obviously primped herself a bit more for the meeting. Her hair was neater, the curls looking fresher. Her face appeared more made-up, as well, and there was a terrific scent, faint, but evident, wafting from her direction.

"Meg," Erik stated in a tone obviously expectant of an explanation.

"Monsieur," she breathed.

She blinked a couple times, trying to catch up to the scene. Her cheeks grew pinker with each passing second than they already were. Her startled speechlessness lasted only a couple seconds before she descended the rest of the staircase. She stood beside Raoul, staring nervously at her superior. She met eyes with Raoul for a few seconds then turned her gaze back to Erik.

"Christine," a voice from one of the back rooms called out. "Is that you?"

To make matters even more awkward, Madame Giry strolled into the room in mid-polish of a glass. She stopped when she saw the three people standing in the entrance hall, wordless and wide-eyed.

"Monsieur de'Chagny," she greeted, offering a small curtsy. "I am afraid Miss Daeé is out on some errands at the moment. I can tell her you called, though."

"Mama," Meg squeaked, but immediately went silent again.

Madame Giry's eyes were shifting between the three individuals. When her daughter spoke, they immediately turned to her. She was beginning to realize what was going on. After all, she was an intelligent, wise woman of her day.

"Madame Giry," Raoul addressed formally and respectfully, showing utmost confidence. "I actually did not come to call upon Christine today. I came to see your daughter—to see Meg."

The glass would have slipped from the woman's hands if Erik hadn't reached out taken a hold of them with both of his. He offered a forced smile with strained comfort. Meanwhile, Madame Giry could not respond. Her protective nature over her daughter made her want to push Raoul out of the building. Yet, her brain couldn't function fast enough to allow these actions to take place. Overall, she was fairly confused and torn.

"Please, take the sitting room," Erik advised through clenched teeth. "We'll try to stay out of your way."

-----

"What are they doing now?"

"They are still seated on the sofa together."

It was a sad, sad scene. Erik and Madame Giry had been reduced to pathetic spies. They hid behind one of the walls and peered inconspicuously into the living room at Meg and Raoul. So far, the couple had stayed seated on one of the couches, speaking in hushed voices so the two spies could not overhear.

"I cannot bear this," Madame Giry whispered. "It is true I wish the happiness for Meg, but this…"

"This is preposterous," Erik finished.

"Precisely."

They looked in for a minute or two of silence then Madame Giry straightened.

"I have to go in there," she announced, and before Erik could stop her, she did just that.

Madame Giry's long black skirt swayed as she tiptoed into the room. A pleasant smile was plastered to her face. Her hands were clasped in front of her.

"May I boil any tea for you?" she asked casually. "If either of you two are thirsty, I can fetch some refreshments."

"Thank you, Madame, but I am perfectly content for now," Raoul replied graciously, his eyes migrating onto Meg at the end of the sentence.

He smiled at her, and she back at him. Madame Giry stood there awkwardly, not knowing what to say or do, but not wanting to depart just yet. Meg peered over at her mother, her smile fading.

"We are fine, Mother, thank you."

"Right," Madame Giry peeped then bustled from the room.

As soon as she disappeared, she reemerged into the sitting room again, ceasing the secret conversation before it could even begin. She hurried back to the duo on the couch with the same old smile on her face.

"What about crumpets? Or scones? Anything to eat? I can whip up something to satisfy your palate," she offered.

"Thank you, but no."

Again she was thrown from the room like a slab of meat thrown to a pack of lions. Well, perhaps she was over exaggerating the analogy in her mind just a tad. She covered her face in her hands when she was safely behind Erik. She felt useless, unneeded. She couldn't do anything other than sit back and watch.

The front door opened, drawing the attention momentarily away from the couple and to the arrival. Christine stepped in with a small box, curiously eyeing the strange scene.

"What is going on?" she questioned, amusedly.

Before she could say another word, blowing their cover, Erik had his hand over Christine's mouth and had her behind the wall with them. It seemed like an absurd action, but neither Erik nor Madame Giry were thinking rationally at the moment.

"Hush, they don't know we are here," Madame Giry informed.

Erik removed his hand so that Christine could function. She started by straightening her dress with one hand then placing it on her hip. She looked skeptic.

"I cannot believe you two would go to such lengths. And, believe me, I am sure that they know you are watching."

Erik and Madame Giry met each other's eyes. Christine giggled.

"Both of you need to relax. It's a harmless call. Besides, I think they actually look decent, even cute together."

"Don't say cute."

"Oh, Monsieur Erik," Christine replied to his negative comment, "don't react so pessimistically. Who knows, maybe their growing relationship will…inspire you."

She gave a small wink then slinked off into the kitchen to put away the package, leaving Erik staring dumbfounded after her. Inspiration from Raoul and Meg? Whatever could she mean by that?


End file.
